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User blog:BacaloV/Tombstone Blues
Rain. Dark, cloudy sky. Cold wind, blowing the brown and red leaves of autumn over the gravel-covered paths. Propably the most stereotypical weather for a graveyard. As I looked out of the window, my thoughts circled around the old weeping willow I could see in far northern corner of the graveyard, and that she will propably lose another few branches in this storm. Sighing, I resigned myself to the fact that it might be time to cut her down. The image hurt me, since the tree was there since I could remember. I decided to delay this matter until tomorrow, when the storm would have died down. ... As I woke up the next morning, I anticipated already that the day's schedule would be filled with repairing and tidying up the place. Quickly getting out of bed, I put on my clothes, decided to wear my thick greatcoat and left the house. At this time of the day, the site was clouded by fog as usual, and I decided to take a look at the old willow. Passing grave after grave, I made a mental list of the ones that needed repair, a cleaning or both. Mr. Eric & Mrs. Patricia Reddington, 714-798/721-749: Branch across the grave, earth spilled on the path, death candle broken "Mr. Reddington, Mrs. Reddington", *I tipped on my imaginary hat* Ms. Eliza Pollock. 748-771: Tombstone fell over. "Sorry Liz, I'll be with you in a second" Ms. Johanna Williams-Harker, 701-714: Wet earth smeared across the tombstone, need to exchange the flowers already "Johanna, have you ever seen such a storm? Well, I guess it's better that you have not." In my first years here, I found it strange how sympathetic the visitors looked at me, as if it would decrease my own life-span to work on a graveyard. It scared me a bit how indifferent I became to that in the meanwhile As I reached the willow, I let out a sight of relieve. Only a few of the weaker branches were broken, and it made me happy that I would be able to see her a little while longer. Satisfied for now, I returned to the shed, and set out to clean up the damages of last night. ... Around afternoon, I had finished to clean up most of the graveyard. I cleaned the paths, refilled earth on the graves, exchaned flowers, candles, wiped the dirt off of gravestones and re-erected Liz's gravestone with the words:"A Lady your age should not have such a dissolute appearance. Rumors spread quickly." Stretching my back, I blinked up to the sky. It was still clouded, but I could see a spot of pale blue here and there which raised my spirits. I decided to take a look at my newest client before getting lunch. Heading for the center of the graveyard, the graves were soon replaced by crypts and tombs. I took off my hat and avoided staring at them too much, since the rich and wealthy surely looked down on a lowly gravedigger like myself. Of course, I could tell their names without even thinking. Lady Esther Rozen, 783-807: An imposing, quadratical crypt, with also quadratical pillars on all four edges. "Lady Rozen. I hope you are satisfied the mason's work." Last week, I had to call for a stonemason to repair the epitaph over the door. Apparently, some thugs had damaged it on purpose, which didn't surprise me, since Lady Rozen was infamous for her arrogant attitude towards commoners. At her lifetime, at least. After I greeted the rest of the graveyards elite, I stopped in front of the newest crypt. A cylindrical built, with a low dome on top. Crowned was it with a life-size statue of its inhabitant, Lady Victoria Elizabeth Winstead. In the moment I looked up to her face, a beam of sunlight lit her face and displayed a remarmable, if not outstanding beauty. An oval, well-shaped face, with high cheek-bones, a slightly curved nose and two big, round eyes. Short, wavy hair framed her face, and the sculptor gave her lips a pouting, alluring expression. I noticed that I had been staring at her for a moment. cleared my throat and looked around to see if anyone had been watchning. Luckily, the only visitors were a good couple of yards away and mourning at a grave, so I had not made a fool out of myself. Yet. "I hope you like it here, Lady Winstead." I looked looked at the incscription over the door: 791-810. I didn't know why she died, in fact no one knew, but it made me strangely happy that such a young and beautiful maiden lived on my graveyard. Hearing a snicker behind me, I saw two girls, one around 16, the other maybe -4 or 15 quickly dash away. Blushing, I noticed that I spoke aloud once more and cursed myself in my mind for being so careless. Still a few curses on my lips, I returned to the house to get something to eat. ... Category:Blog posts